


Dura meets Ironclaw

by Mercykiller



Category: LARP - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:38:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12970926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercykiller/pseuds/Mercykiller
Summary: Dura wakes up to find herself in the Ironclaw camp and she meets the warlord.





	Dura meets Ironclaw

The bark of the tree dug into her back, there was a jagged rock under her left thigh and something had bitten her hand making it itch like crazy. But Dura still sat there, cross legged, ignoring all the inconveniences that prevented her from true sleep and used them instead to remain in a light resting state. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her eyes were closed but unless you wanted to risk peering under the matted dreadlocks that hid her hanging head you wouldn't know it. The sword that lay across her knees was still covered in the dried blood of her previous attackers, her dagger was on the ground next to her and at least several other improvised weapons were within arms reach.  
Dappled shadows shifted as the breeze played with the tree branches that sheltered Dura in her hiding spot. The breeze also brought with it the smells and sounds of the land around her, the hiss of the high grasses that stretched across the plains, the baking earth, musk of large herdbeasts, a snort of breath, bird calls, a clink of metal hitting metal. Raising her head but keeping her eyes closed she waited, cocking her head to the side. There it was again, a soft chinking sound, it was a touch closer this time. She opened her eyes now, through the swaying leaves she could just make out moving figures, one separated from the group as she continued to watch and started walking towards the cluster of trees that hid her. Cursing softly she picked up her sword and dagger, shifting from her seated position and crouched closer to watch the figure, every bone in her body protested for her to remain seated, and her wounds flared with renewed pain. She fought down a wave of nausea when she stood up.  
As they moved closer details resolved themselves. Patchwork armour of chainmail and plate, worn and dirtied furs, layers of fabric, warpaint on green skin. The other remaining figures that he'd left behind were waiting in the distance but soon moved off again, in the other direction, probably assuming that their companion would be fine by himself.  
The orc that was coming towards her carried a long pike, she could just see the hilt of a sword hanging from his belt as well. Medallions covered the fur and chainmail around his shoulders and the white stripes that marked his face became more distinct. Almost like how the elders of her village painted the faces.  
There was the scent of cold iron, smoke and blood about him as well.  
He'd paused short of the trees and laid down his pike, then moved closer to the tree Dura was hiding behind, she stiffened instinctively and shrunk back hoping he wouldn't spot her.  
But when she heard the rustle of clothing shifting, a belt coming undone, her brow wrinkled in disgust, raising her sword she tapped it against the tree trunk at a height she approximated to be level with his head.  
"*Ul Goduk have piukukun par alnej enough jiak liwo noav have lat do iav auk nalal." She snarled and stepped out from behind the tree, keeping her weapon at neck level, to glare at the strange orc, gritting her teeth at the nausea returned. Despite almost being caught with pants down he returned her glare with a cold stare of his own, even when one of his eyes was blind and milky white it still left like it saw through her. He made a short coughing sound, like he was clearing his throat and sneered, flicking his gaze down and Dura felt a light pressure on her stomach, he'd managed to draw his weapon silently, without her noticing and get under her guard. Had he aimed it any higher however the jab would have landed on one of her broken ribs.  
"** Puav your ukword awaausan agh uko liwo jiak." He didn't so much as growl the words as spoke them, his voice was level and calm, as if this was the most normal encounter in the world. The pressure of the sword tip on her stomach lifted.  
"Boavh ro avhem" Dura snarled in return, making up for the other orcs lack of aggression, and reluctantly lowered her own weapon, letting it hang at her side. She watched the orcs face as he re sheathed his sword and belted his pants back up.  
Only then did she put away her own weapon and finally had a chance to give the orc a scrutinizing look over.  
(("*The gods have pissed on me enough I will not have you do it as well."  
"**Put your sword away and so will I.”  
“Both of them.”))  
"Are you Ironclaw?" The question was blunt and straight to the point, surely this time the gods would let her have a small victory, she let herself hope just a little.  
"I am warlord of the Ironclaw. Why do you ask?" He crossed his arms and straighted a little bit, Dura decided he may have been a little more imposing or impressive if he wasn't just taller than herself, and maybe a bit broader.  
"A dwarf I met seemed to think I belonged. I now see why." Dura shrugged, pushing down the fresh wave of pain that came with the movement though a little colour drained from her face.  
"A dwarf huh? Blue clothing and a bird as their symbol."  
Dura nodded and blinked a few time to try and clear her vision that was wavering in and out.  
"Wrenborn. An ally. And who are you?" His head was tilted to the side, watching her curiously.  
"Dura, last of clan Orvaaa....." Her words slurred as her head swam and suddenly the ground was coming up towards her as her body finally gave in to exhaustion.

-

"She looks funny." The soft voice cut through the blackness of her dreamless sleep like a freshly sharpened knife through flesh.  
"Hush." Cut in another voice, older sounding, deeper, male.  
"Mhmm." Came the first voice again, child.  
She coughed, mouth dry and furry feeling, wiping the gunk from her eyes she found herself looking up at the roof of a tent, hammocks of fur and fabric hung from several points what the held was hidden from her view, she could see dried plants strung along one of the walls, along with several jars whos actual contents was obscured by the stains.  
"Well I'm not dead." She mouthed and groaned as she tried to sit up, but found herself unable. Something stiff was wrapped around her chest, feeling down and around her stomach she found someone had stripped her to the waist and placed wide splints wrapped in fabric around her torso, they'd created a brace on her chest for the broken ribs. She checked her arm, it too had been rebandaged.  
Rolling onto her side and pushed herself up awkwardly, scanning the room she found her belongings piled in a corner haphazardly. Digging through it she found her shirt and vest and pulled them on, followed by the fur cloak which she wrapped around her shoulders, lastly slinging her small bag around her hips, its contents to precious to leave behind. She decided to forgo her boots since she couldn't bend to put them on and left them with her armour. She did however pick up her dagger before limping towards the tent opening.  
Squinting into the sunlight she emerged to find a group of small faces staring up at her. An older orc stood over them, arms crossed over his chest and a look of permanent disapproval on his face. Dura had to push down a defensive reflex to bring her knife to bear at the gathering that seemed to have appeared before her as her eyes adjusted.  
"She's awake!"  
"Told you she looks weird!"  
"Why does she have bones on her face?"  
"What do her tattoos mean?"  
The babbled questions flooded in, the younglings were talking over the top of each other and some even tried venture close to her to try and touch the bones hanging from her skirts if it wasn't for a low rumbling snarl from the older male orc.  
"Enough. She is to see Grimgar. He will decide what will happen with her."  
The younglings fell silent and the ones that were sitting on the ground picked themselves up and trotted over to stand next to their caretaker.  
Dura flashed a grin at one of the youngling that stared to long, eliciting some gasps at her pointed teeth.  
"You, Dura. Follow me. Grimgar will be wanting to see you now you're awake."  
She nodded and fell in beside the orc, holding herself tall despite the limp in her walk.  
Casting her gaze around she tried to make sense of the camp and the occupants, she saw a handful of goblins and even a troll, some looked up from their business and eyed her passing with some suspicion, Dura narrowed her eyes in return and she held herself a little straighter. She would not be intimidated.  
"And you are?” She probed, and looked over the orc as they walked, he had a wicker basket slung on his back that had fur hanging out of it, protecting whatever was inside. She swore she saw little fingers reach out from under the lid that sat ajar. She tried to peek in but Gorag shot her a filthy look and she desisted.  
“Gorag.” He was blunt with her and continued the walk in silence, the younglings followed behind them, chattering amongst themselves, Dura began to wonder where their mothers were, she’d seen only 1 or 2 other females in the camp and none of them were showing attention to the youngsters, preferring instead to go about their own business.  
They arrived at one of the largest tents in the centre of the camp, banners hung from it’s blackened sides and large tusk like poles created the entrance, a tall orc with pale green skin, his lower jaw covered in black markings and bones covering his head emerged as they came up to the tent opening, he paused briefly to exchange a few quick words with Gorag, his lip curled into a sneer as he looked over at her and she could feel his eyes pick her apart as if she was easy prey, his exchange with Gorag done he left the pair of them. Dura watched him stride back through the camp and disappear into the mass of tents.  
“Be quick, Grimgar does not have endless patience.” With that Gorag left as well, shooing the younglings before him, some stayed behind however and decided to make their play area in front of the massive wartent.

Dura pushed aside the heavy hide and walked in, the white eyed orc faced her from across the tent, he was seated on a large fur covered chair, a map of the continent made from several leather hides laid out at his feet.  
“Grimgar I take it.”  
“Mmm, Dura of clan…” He paused waiting for her to fill in the gap.  
“Orvash. It is gone now, murdered, burnt to the ground. I am the last.”  
“Why seek out Ironclaw?” His questions almost felt like an interrogation, flicking something from the arm of the chair he got up and walked towards her, stepping over the map markers shaped like suns, birds, wolves, and dragons to reach her. He came to stand in front of her, much like how they’d stood on the plains, but he clearly held the power here.  
“Because it was the only lead I had.”  
Grimgar’s eyes narrowed and his brow creased. Dura sensed that keeping a secret or lying at this point would see her dead in seconds.  
“Lead for what?”  
“Finding the ones who burnt my village, killed my people, and my little ones, leaving me to find their broken bodies.” She almost growled out the last few words, she could feel the anger bubbling up in her gut.  
“We don’t come from your land, so why us?”  
Dura really didn’t have an answer for that and chewed her lip for a moment thinking.  
“Because the gods let me live, so I owe them something. They led me to you, I can only assume it is because you will help.” It was the best response she could come up with that wasn’t a shrug or silence but she saw Grimgar tense, he stepped closer and hissed at her.  
“I distrust those who worship with blind fervour. Especially those who chase Ognir’s empty promises.”  
“Dretha, birthmother, life giver is my patroness. It is not worship, that would be a willing act, what I do is not. Her games are cruel and all I wish for is to be left alone and not tormented with my children’s soul screams when I close my eyes.” She stared back at him and touched the white crescent moon tattoo that marked her face around her eye, one of the several symbols that marked her as a follower of Dretha. Seemingly satisfied, at least temporarily, Grimgar leaned back from her, rocking on his heels for a moment before walking around the tent to a low laying table.  
“I feel your loss. I once had a daughter.” She almost didn’t catch his words as he was facing away from her, when he turned back around he held 2 mugs made from horn in his hands, he offered one to her. Taking it she sniffed the contents wondering if he had slipped something into it, smelling only the coolness that was fresh water she drank, washing away the pasty dry feeling on her tongue. She was about to open her mouth and ask about his daughter when he cut her off.  
“The younglings seem to be taken with you, Gorag has not been able to draw them away from his tent since you were first laid there.”  
“How long have I been out?”  
“Several days. Our hunting party had to carry you back and our healers saw to your injuries.”  
“My thanks. I'll repay you as soon as I am able.” Dura dipped her head out of respect and thanks, while her gaze was cast down she caught movement out of the corner of her eye, one of the younglings was peeking under the edge of the tent, the face disappeared as soon as they caught her looking at them.  
“Your younglings? Do they not have mothers, fathers?”  
“They are not here, they are dead or back in our failing homeland. And it is our brood Ken-ners duty to raise them even if we have no birthing pits.”  
“Brood ken-ner? Birthing pits?” Dura repeated the terms, she was unfamiliar with them, but they sounded like they were something from the ancient stories of her people but she couldn't place when she'd last heard them spoken.  
“Gorag is our brood ken-ner, the birthing pits speed the growth of our young and it is his duty to watch over them. But we have none and so our young are raised like the pale skins.” Grimgars face showed obvious distaste about what he was speaking of, Dura sensed there was more to the situation but decided not to press it, instead she offered the only thing she could at this point.  
“Should you wish it, I could mind them, while I heal?”  
He crooked an eyebrow at her query as he drained his own mug, lowering it slowly as he thought it over.  
“Why should I let you? You threatened me at first meeting, you carry a weapon into my tent. How can you assure me that they will be safe around you?” He pointed with his free hand at the hilt of the dagger that protruded from under her cloak. Dura reached for it slowly and drew it out, holding the blade in her hand she pointed it at Grimgar and saw him tense, no doubt a reflex from his many years as a warrior, instead she flipped it and held it out by the blade, offering him the hilt of it.

“I offer my weapons, my skills and my life in repayment. I will fight for Ironclaw, take your enemies as my own. For as long as my path remains in this land.” She waited, the knife hanging in the space between them, if the tension was something physical Dura could have cut it. Eventually Grimgar put down his mug and took the knife, turning it over in his hands and examining the blade.  
“You drop a promise like that so readily, is it commitment or foolishness?” He moved so quickly, Dura dropped her half empty mug in a vain attempt to bring her hands up in time to stop the blade in its deadly arc towards her throat, barely deflecting his arm so the knife was redirected over her shoulder, the blade slicing the flesh of her cheek instead of the veins in her neck. With a quick jab she threw a punch at Grimgars jaw, she felt the wound in her arm tearing open, he ducked her blow and tried again with the dagger, swinging to down and in towards her stomach. She would have tried to avoid the strike, dodging out of the way, but the stiff brace around her chest prevented her from moving how she usually would have, instead she turned into the blow, hoping that a little bit of luck was on her side.  
The knife plunged into her chest, the force of it knocking the air from her lungs, there was an awefully crunching sound as the metal impacted into the wood of her chest brace, Dura growled and pushed through as the knife stuck, one hand gripping Grimgars in place at her side, the other shooting for his throat. His free hand came up and caught hers, quick as she could she kicked out and hooked her foot around his ankle and pushed down throwing him towards the ground, and as he let go of her and the dagger in an effort to catch himself, Dura shoved harder to send him sprawling and wrenched the knife out of her side. She lunged at him snarling, teeth bared and anger boiling in her veins, as she bodily fell onto the warlord, the dagger came down, Grimgar threw his arms up in defence as the point came for his face.  
The blade sank into the earth beside his ear instead and Dura leaned in so her face was almost touching Grimgar’s. She could see it in his eyes that he'd let her win, it was a test then. To see what she'd do given the chance to defeat him.  
“Never doubt my word. I will take my oaths to the grave. Gods send me mad if I turn on my word.” She hissed and rolled off him, awkwardly, with a grunt of pain as the broken brace dug into her ribs when she stood up, she could feel blood running down her arm as it soaked through the bandages, it would need redressing.  
“You may stay with Ironclaw, I expect your loyalty. Have Gorag see to the wound, once you are mended we will see if you are truly worthy of joining us.” Grimgar picked himself up and dusted himself off then offered a hand to Dura, narrowing her eyes at him and took it in a firm grip, before letting go of his hand she leant down as far as she could and lifted his hand to her forhead, a gesture of loyalty in her clan.  
Grimgar nodded, released his grip on her hand and gestured to the tent opening, a sign their talk was done, he crossed back to his pelt covered throne and took a seat, pulling a scroll towards him and unfurling it, leaving Dura to make her way out.


End file.
